Always Something
by the.epiphony
Summary: There's always something in the way, always something to mess it up. DMXHG DM slight OOC, sorry couldn't help it. ONE SHOT


Always Something

_Always Something_

**A/N: I'm in a mood. I want to write. Leave me alone.**

DISCLAIMER: I DO _**NOT **_OWN ANYTHING. SO LEAVE ME ALONE.

He sat on the other side of the classroom, watching her. She paid him no mind, she was taking Charms notes. He really shouldn't watch her so much, it could cause trouble, and trouble was the last thing he needed.

But he just couldn't help himself. He loved the way her wavy brown hair fell behind her shoulders when she looked up at the board. He loved the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating on something. He loved the way her eyes would become glassy with pride when she answered a question correctly. He loved the way she smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly to reveal her white teeth, straightened out by Madam Pomfrey. He loved everything about this girl, and yet he could do nothing about it. After all, she was a Muggle-born, and he was a Pure-blood. It just couldn't work out.

Not that she would _ever _want to be with him anyway, what with the amount of verbal torture and insults, the whole hating Harry and Ron and pretty much every Gryffindor.

He just wished she could see how much _he _wished they could be at least friends, if anything. She just didn't know, she couldn't.

She could feel his gaze penetrating her flesh, wishing he would stop staring at her for once. It was rather irritating; to be stared at every minute they were within 100 yards of each other. She should be flattered, but considering who was doing the staring, she wasn't so sure she could call it "flattering."

But, she had to admit, she noticed him too. The way his platinum blonde hair was always so soft-looking, so perfect. They way his cold grey eyes would sometimes soften when he stared at her. The way he would clench his jaw and fists whenever Harry or Ron was giving her attention. The way he tried so hard to be sure that she didn't know he was watching, but failing every time. She just noticed these things, it wasn't something she wanted to notice, she was just a very observant person. Yeah, that's it, observant.

She couldn't lie to herself. She knew she wanted him to look at her, she knew she wanted to be the only girl on his mind before he fell asleep. It was an amazing feeling, knowing that somebody took an interest in her.

But, she also knew that nothing could ever become of their little game. They both knew this, and they both accepted it. There was nothing they could do, she was a Muggle-born, he was a Pure-blood, she was a Gryffindor, and he was a Slytherin. They were too different.

It was rather surprising finding him in the library this late at night, she thought. Usually it was just her, nobody really cared about school as much as she did, so what business did they have in the library? It was just strange. Then again, the whole situation was strange.

He sat alone at the back table, a large book open, but his attention was not on the open pages, but on the girl who had just walked in.

He knew he could find her here; she was Granger, after all. Where else would she be? The Weasel and Potter would be resting for the match tomorrow, and she didn't really have any other friends, did she?

He sat there, watching her make her way to the shelves, looking for a book, but nothing in particular. He got the strange suspicion that she just wanted to be near him. No, he shouldn't get his hopes up, he would only be rejected if he tried to make a move based on false hope.

She hovered around the area, keeping an eye on him with her peripheral vision. She didn't exactly know why, but she needed to see him at all times, to watch his movements, just in case. He was, after all, a Death Eater.

At one point, she thought she saw him staring back at her, but it was probably just her imagination. He wouldn't dare stare at her when they were alone, would he?

Imagine her surprise when she found that he _was _indeed staring at her, his eyes roaming her uniform clad body. She felt a sudden blush form at her cheeks when she noticed.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" She asked coldly. She couldn't let her voice give away what she was really thinking.

"What does it look like, Granger? I have a book open in front of me, in the library. It doesn't take a genius to figure that one out," he spat back.

"Well, excuse me for thinking you got lost, seeing as I've never seen you with a book before, except in class, and even then you don't read it," she countered.

"Just because class is a waste of time for me and I could be doing other things doesn't mean I don't read. I'll have you know I have a very diverse collection of books, from both Wizards and Muggles. I'm not as prejudice as you may think," he said, spite in his eyes.

Hermione didn't exactly know how to reply to this, she was slightly confused. Didn't he hate Muggles?

"I thought you hated Muggles?"

"I do. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the work they do, or the imagination they posses. Some of it is better than any Wizard-written book I've ever read. I've got to give Muggles _some _credit, don't I?" he finished.

"It just doesn't make any sense to me," she muttered.

It really didn't. He was Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, some of the greatest Muggle-hating, Pure-blood-boasting, ignorant people she'd ever had the misfortune to meet. Why would he, of all people, _appreciate _what Muggles do?

"What doesn't? The fact that you don't really know me at all, or the fact that I'm not as bad as you think?"

"That means the same thing," she murmured.

"All the same, I just want to know what you don't get,"

"You're Malfoy! Draco Malfoy! You don't like anything to do with Muggles! If you can't like a Muggle-born, then you can't appreciate Muggle literature. That's the way it is!" she yelled. She couldn't fully understand _why _she was yelling, exactly, but it made her feel slightly better to let out some of the frustration he had caused her.

"I don't hate all Muggle-borns, Granger, just some," he said, not making it clear _who _he did hate, and Hermione found herself hoping against all hope she was not one of them.

She walked over to the table where he sat, snatching away the book that lay open, forgotten.

"What are you reading, anyway?" she asked, unable to find anything else to say at the moment.

"_Kurt Cobain Journals._ He was a American Muggle musician who shot himself in the head. He was actually a great leader in a way. It's sad that he had to end it that way, I enjoyed his music, there was a lot of hidden pain in them," he stated.

She sat there in shock. How did _he _know who Kurt Cobain was? _She _barely knew who he was, and she was _raised _as a Muggle. She just couldn't fathom the thought that he knew something about Muggles that she didn't, a Muggle-born.

Hermione stared at Draco, really stared, as if she were seeing him for the first time.

"Why are you so different now, with just me, and no one else around?" she asked with blatant curiosity.

"Because I know you won't say anything to anyone about this, you want to keep this new me that you've seen a secret," he answered truthfully.

"And how do you know that?" she asked.

"Because you want something of your own, not something that a Pure-blood has, not something the only know survivor of the Killing Curse has, not something a teacher or a Headmaster, or anyone else has," he said without looking at her.

"And that would be…?" she trailed off.

"The fact that you know who I really am, you've seen a side of me that I have never shown to anyone," he said quietly.

"Malfoy, this is too weird, I don't like it," Hermione said a bit frightened.

"Of course, I expected this. I didn't actually think you could accept me this way, considering my past as you know it. But I gave it a try. So I guess this is goodnight," he stood from his seat and gently took the book from Hermione's now limp hands.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said.

Draco walked out of the library with the book tucked under his right arm, his chin held high, his platinum hair perfectly smooth, his normally cold grey eyes suddenly soft, his footsteps even and in no hurry.

But what Hermione couldn't see was the agony of rejection hidden behind those soft grey eyes. The fact that Hermione didn't even give him a chance made him even more upset than he would have initially felt if she had heard him out.

He knew that once he got back to his dorm, he would sit on his bed for hours, trying desperately to come up with another way to try and sweep her off her feet. And he knew his plan would inevitably fail. It was a given. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get her to see the real him, the him that desperately wants to be loved, to be held, to just _have _someone _be there_ for him, the way Potter had it. He always had Weasel and Granger and Dumbledor and McGonagall and the Weasley's and all the Gryffindor's and….

The list could go on, but that would only make him even more depressed.

Being a Slytherin, you couldn't count on anyone, trust only yourself, not even your family would stick in with you.

It was sick.

Hermione was left standing in the library, confusion written clearly on her face.

What had just happened? Did Malfoy just…_open up?_ That just wasn't logical.

She slowly sunk into the seat he formerly occupied, and thought hard, biting her lip.

She was thoroughly confused, but at the same time, she wanted to believe his words were true. She wanted to believe there was something more to the Slytherin, and she wanted to be the one to find it, whatever it was.

She just wanted to _know _him, and she just blew her only chance.

**A/N: So what do you think? Too much angst? Yeah, I thought so too. But I just couldn't help myself. I needed some angst at the moment. Hope you enjoyed.**

**the.epiphony**


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